


The Art of Talking and (K)not

by wilddragonflying



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Hank Anderson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Omega Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Pining, discussion of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-01-23 16:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Reed’s self-control lasts for ten minutes.“Y’know, it seems like all the omegas have such adorable asses; is it a requirement to get on the force now?”Hank freezes over at the coffeemaker, abruptly wishing that he was just a little bit closer, so he’d have an excuse to conveniently ‘trip’ and dump his fresh, hot coffee all over Reed’s damned stupid knothead self.Connor Stern - the newest omega on the force, target of Reed’s jab and subject of Fowler’s “anyone harrasses him in any way and they’ll answer to me” talk the day before - appears to have the situation well in hand. He gives Reed an icy stare, cold enough that even Hank winces with his hot drink in hand, and says, “My ass has nothing to do with my ability to do my job - but it appears that your knot has affected your ability to do yours. Good day, Detective.”





	1. Chapter 1

Reed’s self-control lasts for ten minutes.

“Y’know, it seems like all the omegas have such adorable asses; is it a requirement to get on the force now?”

Hank freezes over at the coffeemaker, abruptly wishing that he was just a _little_ bit closer, so he’d have an excuse to conveniently ‘trip’ and dump his fresh, hot coffee all over Reed’s damned stupid knothead self.

Connor Stern - the newest omega on the force, target of Reed’s jab and subject of Fowler’s “anyone harrasses him in _any_ way and they’ll answer to me” talk the day before - appears to have the situation well in hand. He gives Reed an icy stare, cold enough that even Hank winces with his hot drink in hand, and says, “My ass has nothing to do with my ability to do my job - but it appears that _your_ knot has affected your ability to do yours. Good day, Detective.”

It is a very shapely ass, Hank has to admit, unable to help himself from sneaking a glance as Connor stalks away from a spluttering Reed, but he at least wouldn’t have said anything out loud. When Reed looks at him, clearly expecting some measure of sympathy from a fellow alpha, Hank just raises an eyebrow before taking a pointed sip of his coffee. Reed huffs, marches back to his desk, and Hank makes his way much more leisurely towards his own.

His own desk, which had an empty one next to it yesterday.

His own desk, whose neighbor now bears a name plate proudly stating that this desk now belongs to one Detective Connor Stern.

Hank’s rather proud of the way he manages to _not_ perform a spit-take across half the damn bullpen. All he does is pause mid-step, coffee halfway to his lips, before resuming his walk over.

Okay, so. Not the worst thing that could have ever happened to him, but still. He doesn’t need this shit.

As long as Fowler doesn’t assign Connor to him as his partner, he can deal with being desk-buddies. First few weeks on the force, new Detectives rotate who they go on cases with; Fowler probably stuck him over here because there’s no other empty desks in their department.

Yeah, okay. Hank can be a mature adult about this.

He totally can.

* * *

“You’re fucking _what?_ ” Hank demands, resisting the urge to shove himself to his feet from the chair in front of Fowler’s desk three weeks later.

“I’m assigning you and Stern as partners,” Fowler repeats, unphased by Hank’s hackles raising.

“ _Why?_ ” Hank demands, bewildered - and maybe stalling, trying to find a way out of it. “I don’t work with partners - “

“But I can’t assign him to anyone else,” Fowler snaps. “Jesus, Hank, you’re the only damn one who hasn’t hit on the poor bastard yet, and don’t think I haven’t noticed the way he keeps spending as much time at his desk as he can, in the bubble of your antisocial sonuvabitch alpha routine. Even _Miller_ hit on him, and he’s a fucking beta, and _mated_!”

Hank scowls furiously, unable to stop himself from glancing out at where Connor is, indeed, sitting at his desk - the same place he’s been at a lot more often than most rookies are, even when it’s been as quiet around Homicide as it has been the past weeks. “There’s really _no one_ else you can put him with? I thought he could handle Reed - “

“He put Reed in his place, but you and I both know that Reed likes a challenge,” Fowler says bluntly.

Hank swears inelegantly; he’d laughed with everyone else the day that Reed had ended up getting his ass handed to him in the middle of the bullpen by Connor, but he knows Fowler’s right. Reed may have backed off, but it’s not a concession, it’s a strategic retreat. “Fucking - Alright, _fine,_ Jesus,” he grumbles. “How do you know everyone’s hit on him but me, anyway?”

“Because I have ears and eyes, Hank,” Fowler says, impatient. “And because I asked him to be sure.”

Hank grumbles wordlessly that time, but how is he supposed to explain that the only reason he’s not hit on Connor is because he’s spent every damn bathroom break jerking himself off to the image of Connor’s ass when he insists on bending over to pick up shit _right in front of Hank_ like the pathetic, drunk old alpha that he is? “Fine,” he repeats, the word nothing more than a sigh. “Do you at least have a case for us? I don’t want to be here when Reed finds out he didn’t get another chance at Connor.”

“I do,” Fowler says, something like sympathy and maybe a bit like relief in his eyes as he nudges the case file over. He thankfully doesn’t comment on the hasty way Hank snatches it up, all but bolting out the door.

He does feel slightly guilty at the way Connor jumps when he barks out, “Kid! We’ve got a case.”

To his credit, Connor recovers quickly. “We?” he asks, sharp - perceptive, Hank’ll need to remember that.

“Yes, we,” Hank says, rolling his eyes. “Fowler just assigned us as partners, congrats on becoming a real detective, now do you want to get out of here and get to the scene or should I go by myself and show you some pictures later?”

“I’m coming!” Connor says hastily, springing from his chair in a move that makes Hank’s knees ache just thinking about doing it himself. Hank grabs his coat off of his own desk, striding from the bullpen and pausing at the security gate only long enough for Connor to catch up with him.

“Let’s get going, then.”

* * *

“ _Jesus_ Christ, this is one of the worst scenes I’ve been to in a while,” Hank mutters under his breath as he and Connor walk into the rundown house they’d been called to. “Looks like a fucking tornado went through the place.”

“It does look rather chaotic,” Connor agrees, eyes flicking over the open first floor plan. “What’s the victim’s name?”

“Todd Williams,” Hank supplies, glancing out the window in the kitchen to where there are officers and CSI combing the backyard. “Found dead by a friend this morning. Has a daughter, ex-wife, and a live-in nanny. Ex-wife didn’t have the daughter this weekend, and the nanny is gone, as is his daughter.”

Connor makes a thoughtful noise, and when Hank looks up, he’s walking slowly through the living room, gaze focused on the floor until he makes a noise of triumph. “Red ice,” he announces, bending down to get a closer look. “And a few other drugs besides.”

“Probably Williams’s,” Hank says, coming over to take a look for himself. “Ex-wife said he had a drug problem, apparently. Part of why they split, why the nanny was a requirement for the rare weekends he had - “ Hank consults the file that Fowler had given him - “Alice.”

Connor hums thoughtfully. “Do we know if anyone else was in the house last night?”

“No sign of anyone else yet, but we’ll see what CSI and the street cams picked up after we take a look at the scene,” Hank says, jerking a thumb upwards. “Williams was found dead on the floor of his daughter’s bedroom, pants up but belt folded over on the floor.”

“Shit,” Connor breathes, eyes wide, and Hank nods.

“Yeah, that about sums it up. First impression says he was still on drugs, and abused the girl - let’s go see the scene before we make any more conclusions.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Connor says, straightening himself and then his jacket. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

Hank’s gaze sweeps the house as he and Connor move through it, taking note of the upturned table, overturned chairs, and the general mess. When he glances at Connor, he’s impressed by the way that Connor’s own gaze is sweeping methodically over the same things that Hank’s already noticed, the way he actually jots down _notes_ on the department-issued tablet.

 _Well, never let it be said that Connor’s not dedicated,_ Hank thinks.

He walks up the stairs first, stepping across the landing to look into what must have been the victim’s bedroom - the window is open, tracks in the carpet suggesting it’s been recently vacuumed, and the bedside drawer is open. Hank walks over to the table, glancing inside - and then swears under his breath when he catches sight of the pill bottle in the drawer.

“Hey, kid, c’mere,” he calls over his shoulder; Connor’s expression is curious as he does as Hank asks, one eyebrow rising when Hank gestures to the pill bottle. “What do you know about this?”

Connor steps in close, Hank holding his breath to avoid taking in more of his scent than necessary - Hank’s a goddamn professional, alright, but better safe than sorry. Hank watches him carefully as Connor’s head tilts, eyes narrowing as he studies the label. “An antidepressant containing Tianeptine,” he says after a moment. “If I’m remembering right, then this one in particular can potentially cause violent mood swings. The prescription was made out for Todd Williams; if he was mixing this with red ice, then…”

“I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard,” Hank finishes. “Come on, let’s go down the hall, see the vic ourselves.”

Connor nods, and they back out of the victim’s bedroom before heading down the hallway. There is an evidence marker on the floor, next to a bloody footprint, and Hank gives it a quick glance before continuing on. As soon as they enter the bedroom marked with tape, Hank swears.

The scent of blood is all over the room - even the open window doesn’t help dilute it. Worse, Hank can make out the bitter scent of pain mingling with the sweet undernotes of a child. The report he’d gotten said that the early estimate for time of death was sometime the night before, but for those scents to be lingering so strongly… He doesn’t like the implications.

Connor _whines_ as soon as he walks through the door, and Hank can’t help the way he shifts, letting his control over his scent relax just enough to let it bloom away from himself, offering Connor a little bit of a buffer. “Sorry, if I’d known it would be this bad…” Hank trails off as Connor shakes his head.

“No, it’s - it still would have been a shock,” Connor says, even as he shifts closer to Hank, taking in several deep breaths. “That’s - _fuck,_ that’s old. It’s layered, it wasn’t just the one beating.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t,” Hank agrees in a mutter, taking a slow step forward as he looks over the trashed room. Connor follows with him, and Hank doesn’t reign in his scent just yet. Connor’s kept good control over his scent the past few weeks at the precinct, but Hank’s been around long enough that it’s not hard to pick up on the quietly sour notes of distress. If Hank’s scent helps him focus, then he’ll leave it be for the moment.

“There was one _hell_ of a struggle in here,” Connor says after a moment of silent observation. He’s kneeling down by one of the pools of blood, brows furrowed.

“Dents in the wall, broken window… Yeah, I’d say so,” Hank comments, coming to a stop by the gun sitting next to what looks like a crushed blanket fort. “Whoever shot Williams might have been standing here. Wonder if it was the girl or the nanny?”

“Hard to tell,” Connor hums. “Won’t know for sure until we find them.”

Hank grunts, moving on. there’s not much to be seen here that CSI can’t pick up, so he and Connor don’t spend too long in the room. Hank reels his scent back in without a word once they’re back downstairs, walking over to look at the overturned table again. “I’d wager it started down here,” he says after a moment’s thought.

“Oh?” Connor asks, coming to stand next to Hank; the scent of distress has faded, barely noticeable until Hank looks for it.

“Yeah. You found red ice and a pipe in the living room; I’d say it’s pretty likely he got high before dinner, something set him off, or he did it to himself - “ Here, Hank gestures to the broken plates of pasta on the floor, some of the sauce splattered on the wall - “and went after one of them. Probably the girl, druggies are usually quicker go after children. He chased the girl upstairs, the nanny followed…”

“Someone brought the gun into the room, and Williams and the nanny were likely the ones who fought,” Connor finishes. “And in the fight, Williams ends up shot and dead, and they run. What were their names, do we know?”

“Alice Williams and Kara Howard,” Hank answers after consulting the file. “No other living family, Williams’s ex-wife hasn’t heard anything from them.”

Connor hums thoughtfully. “Any sign of cash missing? They might have taken some for a motel or something, if they were worried about some of Williams’s… associates coming to the house.”

“You mean his dealer or some other drug-seeking friends?” Hank says wryly before gesturing at Ben, hovering on the front porch. “Well?”

“Not that we’ve been able to determine yet,” he reports. “Upstairs is such a mess anyway, it’s hard to tell what’s the result of the incident and what might be them searching for a way to find shelter.”

Hank nods. “We’ll put out an APB, anyway, just to be sure,” he decides. “Until we can rule out them being chased by some of Williams’s friends, I don’t want to put their photos on the news, understood? Better safe than sorry. They couldn’t have gotten far in last night’s weather, even if they caught a bus at that stop down the street.”

“We should talk to the bus operator next,” Connor chimes in, stepping up beside Hank. “Or rather, the one who was on duty last night at the time the murder was committed.”

“Not a bad idea,” Hank says with a tilt of his head. “Let’s go take care of that; there’s nothing else we can do here.”

“Right behind you, Lieutenant.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter contains a recap of what happened the night before the scene of the previous chapter, which means that Kara and Alice are talking about Alice being abused and the fight with and murder of Todd. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, you can skip this chapter without losing any of the plot! This is mostly to get a bit more interaction with Hank and Connor and to wrap up what started last chapter.

The street cameras are a bust - lightning strike blew a nearby transformer, shorted the cameras out for an hour. Hank swears vigorously, but this is one of the more rundown neighborhoods of Detroit; he mutters something about the fact that they even have working cameras was already pushing their luck.

A call to the city bus service, however, is much more fruitful - they get the number of the bus that would have been in the area at the time of the murder, as well as the name of the operator. From there, it’s easy to track his route and meet him at the next stop, pulling him off just long enough to get a description and address of where he’d last seen the two.

“Perhaps I should take lead on this, Lieutenant,” Connor suggests as they walk towards the office of a motel near the station where the operator had said he’d told the two to disembark. “You’re not as intimidating as Williams was reported to be, but… You are still an alpha.”

Hank pauses, looking at him, but Connor simply looks back; he can see the wheels turning in Hank’s head, behind his eyes, and he waits him out. “You might have a point,” Hank admits grudgingly. “Let’s see if the clerk recognizes them first.”

Connor gives Hank a smile. “Of course, Lieutenant.”

Hank grumbles something under his breath as he pushes the door open, but his attention quickly focuses on the clerk, looking at the two of them curiously. Hank flicks his badge out, and Connor does the same - his motion is less fluid, less practiced, than Hank’s, but it’s only a matter of time. “Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detective Connor Stern,” Hank says, gesturing at each of them in turn before continuing. “We’re looking for two missing persons, a young woman and a girl, they got off at the bus stop just up the road.”

Connor steps forward, holding up the photographs they have of Kara Howard and Alice Williams. “Do you recognize these two?”

The clerk squints at the photographs for a moment before he nods. “Paid in cash,” he says, gruff. “Looked like they’d just come out of a rough situation, when the woman said she forgot her ID I didn’t say anything. Both of them just  _ reeked _ of pain, you know?” Connor grimaces sympathetically; he knows all too well. It’ll be a long time before that scent will fade from memory, if ever. “They’re in room twenty-eight, end of the parking lot and up the stairs.” His gaze flicks to Connor, then, assessing. “Hope you’re planning on being the one to talk to them, Detective. They need a friendly face.”

“That’s the plan,” Connor says reassuringly. “Thank you for your help.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Hank echoes, following Connor out of the office and out from under the overhang, both of them tucking themselves further into their coats against the chill mist. “Jesus, it’s fucking freezing.”

“At least they were able to find shelter here,” Connor points out, scanning the numbers of the motel rooms as they pass. “Last night was worse.”

Hank grunts something, moving aside so Connor can walk up the stairs first. “Twenty-eight is right up there,” he says - when Connor looks, he can see the curtain twitching. “I’m going to stay out here, leave the door cracked.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Connor says, taking a deep breath - and ignoring the tiny part of him that wishes, however briefly, for another hit of Hank’s scent to bolster him - before raising a fist and knocking lightly on the door. There’s shuffling footsteps, murmured voices, but then the door cracks, and Connor offers a small smile to the wary face that greets him. “Kara Howard? My name is Connor, I’m a Detective with Detroit Police. I just wanted to talk with you and Alice about what happened last night.”

Kara’s gaze flicks to the side, where Hank’s leaning against the railing, the picture of studied nonchalance. “Okay,” she says warily. “Is he - “

“My partner will stay out here,” Connor reassures her. “I’ll stay by the door, we can leave it open, if that would make you more comfortable.”

Kara hesitates for a moment before nodding once, sharply, and then opening the door wider, just wide enough for Connor to duck inside. He does, shifting to the side so that he’s standing in front of the window, the door cracked beside him. He glances around the motel room - two beds, one slept in, a television and bathroom, Alice Williams sitting wide-eyed on the bed furthest from the door. Kara goes to sit next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and Connor offers the two of them a small smile.

“You - “ Kara clears her throat. “You’ve already been to the house, I guess?”

“Yes,” Connor says honestly; he doesn’t see a reason to lie to her. “We have. It’s… quite the scene. We just want to understand what happened. Before you say anything, I want you to know that I am going to record this.”

Kara glances down at Alice, her shoulders rising in a deep breath, anxiety spiking in her scent so high that Connor catches it on the other side of the room. She nods, and then speaks. “Todd was… not a very good man,” Kara says carefully. “He had a lot of bad habits. Laura hired me to stay with Alice on the weekends that Todd had custody. She was working on getting full custody, but it was slow going. Todd had a lot of friends with a lot of influence, friends he did a lot of favors for.”

Connor nods; that all made sense. “So your priority was protecting Alice.”

“Yes.” Kara takes in another deep breath, blows it out on a sigh. “I… I’ve only been working for Laura for two months. Before that, there was someone else, someone… a lot worse. Not as careful, or capable of managing Todd. Alice got hurt. I kept Todd away from her for most of the weekend, but last night, he got high just before dinner. It was more than usual, and when he flipped the table, I couldn’t stop him before he’d hit Alice. She ran, and Todd followed. I knew he kept a gun in the house, so I grabbed it first. I was just going to use it to threaten him, make him back off until I could get Alice out of the house.”

“He hit her,” Alice says, so quiet Connor would almost think he imagined it. “Daddy slapped her, started hitting her and - and choking her. I thought he was going to kill her, he said he was going to!”

Kara shushes Alice, presses a gentle kiss to her temple, and Connor waits the two of them out, glancing over his shoulder out the window to where Hank is still standing by the window. He looks furious, but it’s not directed inside - he’s glaring out to the side, probably thinking some alpha thoughts about protecting children, if Connor were to hazard a guess. It’s not a hard thing to deduce, given Hank’s own history. When Kara speaks again, Connor’s focus snaps back to her. “We fought, Todd and I. I - He was heavier than me, and still high. He was looking to kill, I was trying to survive. He knocked me around the room, and then threw me to the ground and tried to choke me again. He’d knocked the gun out of my hand before we started fighting, and - “

“And I shot him!” Alice cries, eyes wet, voice thick. “I shot him, because he was going to kill Kara! I didn’t want to hurt him, but he’d hurt me, he was hurting her, and I didn’t want him to hurt anyone else and I didn’t know what else to do!”

Connor takes a deep breath, studying the two of them carefully. He doesn’t detect a lie in either of their expressions; they both meet his gaze head-on, Kara’s weary but determined, Alice’s fearful. “I see,” he says after a moment. 

“It was self-defense,” Kara says, almost pleading. “He - “

“I understand,” Connor interrupts, holding up a hand; he gives them a smile, just a small one. “I do, I promise. Your story lines up with the evidence at the scene. I’ll need to talk to my partner to determine the next step, but I think you two will need to come to the station with us.  _ Not _ under arrest, but for your own safety.”

Neither of them looks terribly reassured, but Connor can’t offer them more than that before he talks with Hank. Still, he offers them another smile before slipping back out of the door, letting it shut behind him before he walks over to Hank, letting out a harsh breath.

“You alright?” Hank asks, straightening and looking at Connor shrewdly; sometimes Connor almost manages to forget that Hank got the earliest promotion to Lieutenant in force history. Then Hank looks at him and guesses his thoughts in a single glance. “I heard some of that.”

“I’ll be fine. Did you hear who shot him?”

Hank’s mouth twists into a grimace. “Yeah. But it sounds like she didn’t have much choice. If she hadn’t, we would’ve been dealing with an entirely different kind of missing persons case. Court’ll go easy on them, if it even goes that far.”

“That’s what I thought. I figured we should bring them to the station, though, at least until we find out if any of Todd’s friends might be coming after them.”

“Good idea,” Hank agrees. “I’ll call it in, let the girl’s mother know we found them, if you want to get them and their things together.” Hank sighs, shakes his head. “Fuck, I can’t believe some of the shit people are capable of.”

Connor’s mouth twists. “I know. But they’re safe now, and nothing happened last night after they left.”

Hank shakes his head again - not a dismissal, Connor thinks, not of him, at least. More a dismissal of his thoughts. “Yeah, at least there’s that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has a bit at the end after Connor talking about his developing feelings for Hank that sort-of follows the scene from Russian Roulette in the game. If you don’t want to read that, then skip after you see the date October 11.

Nines is waiting for him at the station when they’re finally done with Kara and Alice.

Connor isn’t the least bit ashamed of the drawn-out groan he lets out, glaring at Nines when Nines just smirks at him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” he complains. “I thought you had some bust going on tonight.”

“That’s tonight,” Nines says, gaze flicking from Connor to Hank, hovering just behind Connor’s left shoulder. “I thought I’d come congratulate my big brother on his first case with a partner, as a full member of the homicide squad.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the congratulations, Nines, now get the hell out,” Connor grumps, shoving ineffectively at Nines’s shoulder on his way past.

Nines, predictably, ignores him. “Lieutenant Anderson, correct?”

Connor drops into his chair, spinning around just in time to see the way Hank raises an eyebrow, the two alphas sizing each other up. “Yeah,” Hank says after a moment. “Richard Stern. Heard a lot about you, over in narcotics. Real up-and-comer. Where the fuck did ‘Nines’ come from?”

“Born at nine o’clock on September ninth,” is the answer. “How’s Connor doing here?”

“He’s doing well. Even handed Reed his ass within the first week, which was a thing of beauty.” Hank chuckles, and Connor has to fight to keep his scent under control - his flush is a lost cause, heat climbing up the back of his neck and his cheeks. He knows Hank sees it; he sees the way Hank grins at him over Nines’s shoulder. “He’s thorough at scenes, and good with witnesses. He’s got promise.”

Nines hums thoughtfully, and Connor has to resist the urge to throw a pen at his head. “Well, hopefully working with an alpha instead of another omega won’t be too much of a distraction.”

Annnd, the urge is now overwhelming. The pen makes a satisfying plastic _thunk_ noise as it bounces off of Nines’s skull - but Nines’s shocked yelp is even more satisfying. “Shut the hell up, Nines,” Connor says, scowling. “Lieutenant Anderson is a professional, and so am I. The whole fucking homicide unit is nothing but alphas and betas, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Yes, I have, but a beta would have been less distracting,” Nines argues, looking at Connor with a raised eyebrow. Connor crosses his arms over his chest and glares at his brother, who glares back. “What, I can’t be concerned for you and your career?”

“You can be, but you’re crossing the line from ‘concerned’ to ‘meddling,’” Connor informs him. “And now that you have, you can fuck off and go worry about your own career.”

Nines sighs, but he comes around and wraps an arm around Connor for a quick hug, one that Connor grumbles about but returns regardless. Nines grins at him before striding from the bullpen - almost running into Reed on the way out - and Connor sighs before sinking back in his chair. “I love him, but he’s _so annoying_ ,” he groans, scrubbing his hands over his face.

A laugh to his left tells him that Hank’s taken his own seat; when he glances over, Hank’s grinning. “Well, that’s family for you,” he says pragmatically. “Protective, annoying - but they’re there for you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor grumbles. “It’s just worse because I’m an omega. Shocked the hell out of our parents when I presented, they thought they’d have two alphas for a while there.”

“Instincts are a bitch,” Hank says wisely. “I almost sent a guy to the hospital once when he broke my sister’s heart. Younger sister, beta, but still.”

Connor squints at Hank consideringly. “Better not send anyone to the hospital over me,” he says after a moment. “Not unless they’re already attacking me.”

Hank raises both hands. “Hey, I saw how you put down Reed - I know you can handle yourself,” he promises. “No alpha-in-shining-armor routine here, I swear. I don’t even know where the fuck I’d get some armor.”

Connor laughs, relaxing at the weak joke. “I think you could probably find some wherever you find those records you like to listen to.”

“Oh fuck you, that shit is classic!”

* * *

There are times when Connor almost wants to request another partner. Almost, but not quite - every incident that makes him think he can’t work with Hank is exactly the same thing that makes him never want to work with anyone else. Hank is prickly, irritable - but a good man, and a better detective. The more time Connor spends with Hank, the better he likes him, and they work together amazingly well.

The downside is that the more they work together, the more time they spend together in the station and out on the streets, the better Connor gets to know Hank, and the more he grows to like the alpha. It’s starting to get a bit worrying, Connor admits to himself in the rare moments he lets himself acknowledge the warmth he feels when Hank claps a hand to his shoulder, or gives Connor one of his rare smiles. Connor’s had crushes before, on alphas, betas, and omegas, but this feels like standing on the edge of a cliff looking out to sea, not just over a river. He can’t see the potential bottom, the place the fall might end, and that’s… frightening.

It certainly doesn’t help when Hank’s smiles and grins start softening, when he stops scowling at Connor quite so much. When Hank starts looking more relaxed when it’s just the two of them, when Connor realizes he’s looking forward to those times more than anything else…

That’s when he realizes he’s fucked, emotionally-speaking.

That’s when he starts trying to see if he might be able to make it literal, too.

Hank’s past isn’t exactly a secret - mated and separated after the death of his child, it’s easy to pick up generalities from station gossip. What’s not so easy to do is figure out if Hank might be willing to entertain the thought of any kind of relationship beyond what they have right now. Hell, it’s not even easy to figure out if Hank might be attracted to him, and it’s starting to annoy Connor.

Hank keeps a tight handle on his scent, and his control over his other reactions is just as tight. When he started in homicide, Connor appreciated that - At least, he thought back then, if Hank had any reaction to Connor being an omega, he wasn’t letting it affect their working relationship. _Now,_ however, it’s a different story, and it’s _frustrating._ Connor wants - _needs_ \- to know whether Hank might be attracted to him, and Hank’s not giving him any clue whatsoever.

Connor doesn’t want to start blatantly flirting with Hank unless he knows how it’ll be received, but he’s starting to think he’s not going to have a choice.

Then, October 11 rolls around, and Hank doesn’t show up for work. Ben fills him in, and Connor sends Hank a short text, telling him to stay safe - but he never hears back. He tells himself it’s not really his business, he shouldn’t go snooping, but the choice is taken from him when a homicide is reported downtown at two o’clock in the morning and he and Hank are assigned the case.

Fowler gives him Hank’s address, tells him to take a taxi and bill the department for it, and Connor goes. He’s not sure what he’ll find, but he’s not surprised by the small house the taxi drops him off at.

Hank’s Oldsmobile is parked haphazardly out front; Connor checks it first, as well as the front windows before knocking. When there’s no answer, he rings the doorbell, then again, holding the buzzer for one long moment. When _that_ still doesn’t get a response, he steps back, frowning, and then steps off of the tiny front porch. He glances in the front window again, and then walks around the side of the house; a glance in the back window shows him that Hank’s dog - Sumo, he remembers Hank mentioning at one point - is staring at something on the floor of the kitchen. Looking through _that_ window -

“Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor calls, banging against the window; there’s no answer from Hank’s prone form, and Connor swears under his breath. He braces himself in the slick grass, uses his elbow to break the window after a quick test reveals that it’s locked, and then pulls himself through.

There’s a deep bark, and Connor flips himself onto his back, holding up a hand. “Easy!” he says, forcing himself not to panic as the frankly _massive_ Saint Bernard comes to a half mere inches from his face. “Easy, Sumo.” Sumo’s head tilts, ears perking, and Connor lets out a slow breath. “It’s alright, see? I’m a friend - I know your name, I’m here to save your owner.”

Sumo huffs at that, but finally backs off, heading for his water bowl in a corner of the kitchen, and Connor pushes himself to his feet, dusting the broken glass off of his jeans as he does so. He steps carefully around the tipped-over chair, over Hank and the empty bottle of whiskey and gun on the floor, and squats down, taking stock of the scene before him.

There’s whiskey spilled down Hank’s front, and Connor can feel some sticking to his throat when he checks for a pulse. Sluggish, but there, and Connor swears under his breath. Black-out drunk, then. Well, unfortunately for Hank, they’ve got a job to do.

Connor reaches out and pats Hank’s cheek a couple of times. “Lieutenant?” he calls softly, watching as Hank’s eyes flutter, gaze shifting around unfocused. That won’t do. Silently apologizing for what he’s about to do, Connor pulls his arm back, and slaps Hank full across the face. “Wake up, Lieutenant!” Hank grunts with the impact, but it looks like some clarity has been forced into his gaze - he focuses on Connor, at least. “It’s me, Connor. We’ve got a case.”

Hank grumbles something unintelligible, and Connor represses a sigh. “I’m going to sober you up,” he informs Hank, reaching down for Hank’s arm, slinging it across his shoulders and hauling the protesting alpha to his feet. “I have to warn you, this is going to be unpleasant.”

“Leave me alone,” Hank slurs, feet dragging as Connor starts moving them towards the bathroom. “Had plans for the evenin’, don’ wanna go anywhere.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have a choice,” Connor retorts, propping Hank up against the wall, Hank complaining about being sick as Connor opens the bathroom door and hauls him inside. “C’mon, Lieutenant, I know your feet work fine.”

Hank frowns when Connor sets him on the edge of the tub, struggling to his feet - without hesitation, Connor pushes him back, ignoring Hank’s curse when he falls into the tub with a painful-sounding _thunk_. He spins the cold water knob of the shower, ignoring Hank’s immediate protests for a solid minute before he shuts it off, looking down at Hank with his arms crossed. “Are you feeling better, Lieutenant?”

Hank squints at him. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“We’ve been assigned a case. You didn’t answer your phone, so Fowler gave me your address and told me to pick you up.”

“Jesus,” Hank groans, struggling to push himself up so he can sit on the edge of the tub; Connor would offer him a hand, but he’s not sure it wouldn’t be slapped away. “Fowler knows what fucking day it is, why the fuck didn’t he give the case to someone else?”

“Everyone else is helping Vice, or already has a full caseload,” Connor informs him. “But if you _really_ don’t want to investigate a man found dead in a strip club…”

Hank squints at him, scrubbing a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “I’ve got some clothes hanging in the closet in my room,” he grunts. “Mind grabbing them?”

Connor grins. “Be right back.”

Hank’s fashion sense is notorious at the station, and Connor sorts through his closet until he finds the least eye-wateringly atrocious ensemble he can find. He can hear Hank worshipping the porcelain god across the hall, and figures that the abrupt sobering and hangover is going to be punishment enough, he doesn’t need to be punished by his own fashion sense.

Hank asks for five minutes to get dressed when Connor delivers the clothes, and he gives it readily; Hank looks like he’ll need every second. Leaving Hank to his self-induced misery, Connor heads back into the living room, intent on doing a little bit of snooping around while he has the opportunity to learn more about his partner. He stops by Sumo, giving the dog a gentle petting and a scratch behind the ear before moving on, circling the living room and taking in what he can see without going looking.

There are jazz records out, and Hank’s paperback collection is… quite extensive. Connor’s surprised to see several harlequin romances tucked away, separated from each other by mysteries and nonfiction books, like Hank’s trying to hide them. He grins, filing away the information for later; maybe he can use it to tease Hank at some point.

There’s Detroit Gears paraphernalia scattered across the living room, including a signed photograph of the team from a few years ago, and tucked away at the back of a table is an old award. When Connor looks closer, he sees it’s a spelling bee award, and his heart clenches in his chest, a sudden sense of foreboding settling heavy on his shoulders.

Almost against his will, he turns to the kitchen, heading straight for the table and the photograph frame lying face-down on it. Picking it up carefully, Connor flips it over to see a young boy smiling out of the frame at him. His heart sinks to somewhere around the vicinity of his shoes as the pieces fall into place more solidly than they had before, and Connor swallows, hard, before putting the frame back how he’d found it.

He takes a moment to breathe before he moves on, grabbing a broom and dustpan out of their corner when he spots the glass still on the floor. “Sorry about the window, Lieutenant!” he calls over his shoulder, starting to sweep. “I thought you’d been attacked, or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll just bill the department,” Hank calls back. He sounds steadier now, thankfully, and Connor quickly dumps the glass into the trashcan, setting the tipped-over chair upright on his way past. He picks up the empty whisky bottle, trashing it as well, but hesitates when he picks up the revolver.

After a moment, he makes himself ask, “What were you doing were the gun?”

Hank’s answer doesn’t come immediately. “Russian roulette.”

Connor checks the chamber, stilling when he sees the round in the next chamber. He doesn’t say anything more, just empties the bullet and tucks it into his pocket before placing the gun on the counter.

The bathroom door opens, and Connor walks out into the hall, Sumo hauling himself to his feet and padding over to press against Hank’s shins, almost knocking him over. “Yeah, yeah,” Hank says with a laugh, bending over to give Sumo a rough scrubbing that Sumo leans into with a blissed-out look on his face. “You be good, Sumo, I’ll be back soon.” He glances up at Connor then, expression almost unreadable. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Connor says after a moment where he can’t find his voice. “Yeah, let’s go.”


	4. Chapter 4

Hank is starting to give some _serious_ thought to the theory that Connor is trying to drive him insane.

Ever since Connor had shown up at his house and dumped him into his own shower, things have been… odd. It’s nothing that Hank can put his finger on -

Okay, that’s a lie.

It’s nothing that Hank _wants_ to put his finger on, is the thing.

Connor’s always been eager to spend time with Hank, jumping at the offers for drinks and food when they’re out on patrol or on their way back from a scene or interrogation, and he’s never been shy about making conversation. Hank’s even started to _enjoy_ their conversations, to the point where he’s even initiated a couple himself.

And, okay, Hank would have to be fucking _blind_ to miss how attractive Connor is, with the jawline and eyes and his just… His fucking _everything_. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Connor’s attractive, he’s fun, he’s a good guy - he’ll make someone very happy one day.

He deserves better than a washed-up, suicidal, alcoholic alpha.

So when Connor looks at him from under his lashes, gives Hank those shy, intimate-feeling smiles, or - or fucking _bends over_ , like he’s goddamn _presenting,_ Hank does his level best to ignore it. He doesn’t know what Connor’s playing at, doesn’t let himself consider the possibility that maybe Connor’s _not_ playing. He doesn’t let himself even think about hope, because he doesn’t want to consider the possibility of disappointment.

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t store away those images for the lonely nights at home. Doesn’t mean he stops taking more bathroom breaks than strictly necessary when he and Connor are stuck in the station working on paperwork.

Something’s got to give sooner or later, though, Hank knows. He can feel the tension between them building, knows that everyone else in the pen and even fucking _Fowler_ has picked up on it. Nines even fucking corners him at one point, while Connor’s retrieving some files from the basement and he’s hanging out by Reed’s desk blatantly flirting(Not that Hank’s complaining about that part, since watching Reed get so damn flustered is always entertaining), and asks him about his goddamn _intentions_ like they’re in one of the novels Hank will never admit out loud to owning.

Hank’s control is what ends up almost giving the day he walks into the station, too-expensive latte from the cafe down the street in hand, and sits down at his desk, handing the drink over only to catch a trace of Connor’s scent.

It’s heady, as always - omegas are like fucking catnip for alphas, and Connor’s never been an exception to Hank, except he thought he’d been building up a tolerance - but there’s a soft, musky undercurrent that catches Hank’s attention. He frowns, and then immediately curses himself for it when Connor notices and asks, “Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“I - No, it’s nothing,” Hank says, making himself give Connor a half-smile that’s nowhere near as reassuring as it should be.

Connor’s clearly not convinced by it, not that Hank blames him, but he lets the subject drop. The two of them go back to work, and Hank tries not to pay too much attention to the change in Connor’s scent - it’s not his business, after all, not unless it affects Connor’s work, which it’s clearly not.

Hank thinks that’ll be the end of it, until they’re walking out of the station together, heading for Hank’s car, parked by the bus stop that Connor uses to get back to his place. Connor’s nervous, the acrid tang of it curling through the air. Connor’s never this lax about his scent, and it puts Hank on alert, watching their surroundings warily, the alpha in him searching for whatever’s putting the nearby omega on edge.

Connor doesn’t say anything until they’re standing beside Hank’s car; the only warning Hank gets that he’s about to speak is the deep breath he takes in. “I have to be off of my suppressants this month,” Connor says, shoulders squaring as he meets Hank’s gaze evenly. Hank has a horrible suspicion about what Connor’s getting at, and he honestly isn’t sure if he wants to hear it - isn’t sure what his answer will be. “My heat is next week, and I don’t - They’re nearly unbearable alone. I was hoping you’d help me through it.”

Hank blinks, mouth dropping open. He closes it, swallows hard, and tries to get something halfway coherent out. “I - Connor, I don’t think - Why me?” Okay, that was more like a quarter coherent, but he got the main point out.

“Because I trust you, Hank,” Connor says, and _shit,_ is that the first time that Connor’s ever said his name and not his title? “I don’t trust any other alphas - well, I trust Nines, but he’s my brother. I don’t trust anyone else with this. I can - I can get through it alone, but it’s rough. It’s easier with a partner.”

“Connor, I - It’s been _years_ since I’ve been with an omega, I don’t know - “

“You don’t need to answer now,” Connor says, hasty, and those fucking eyes of his are going to be the death of Hank, he just knows it. “I just - I wanted to ask. See if you’d consider it. I’m not due to start until midweek next week, so…”

Hank takes in a deep breath - a mistake, because with Connor standing so close ( _when_ had he gotten so close?), it fills his lungs with nothing but Connor’s soft, alluring preheat scent, and how is he supposed to think clearly with that in his nose? “Alright,” he says after a moment, and tries to ignore the skip in his heartbeat when Connor fucking _beams_ at him. “Shit, Connor, I can’t promise anything,” he warns. “But I’ll think about it, let you know tomorrow, alright?”

“Okay,” Connor says, and that damned smile makes Hank’s knees go weak in a way he’s never felt them behave before. “Thanks, Hank. I really - It means a lot that you’re even considering this.”

Hank feels a flush creep up the back of his neck, warming his ears, and he mumbles, “It’s - “ _nothing,_ he was going to say, but he suddenly realizes that would be a lie. “No problem,” he says instead, which is slightly less of a lie.

Connor’s smile is small, almost shy as he and Hank say their goodbyes, and Hank loses the time between then and getting home, slumping onto the couch and cursing himself out fast and furious. What the _fuck_ is he doing, even entertaining this thought? Wasn’t he _just_ thinking that he doesn’t want to entertain any thoughts of anything more than their working relationship? That he didn’t want to take that chance, risk that potential trouble and heartbreak?

And yet, the _moment_ Connor asked him, the very _instant_ he pulled out those fucking eyes, Hank’s resolve had crumbled like wet tissue paper. Fuck, was he really that desperate that he was seriously considering this? Helping an omega half his age through a heat… Hank has no idea how long Connor’s heats usually last, but the average heat is three days. Hank’s not a young alpha anymore, how the hell does he think he’s going to keep up with an omega in heat?

But… the thought is tempting. Hank can’t lie to himself - has been trying to make that less of a habit - and here, in the dark on his couch, Sumo snoring away on his bed in the corner of the living room, he lets himself admit that he wants to try. _God,_ does he want to try to keep up with Connor - he wants to see Connor lose that cool he keeps about him, wants to find out what kinds of noises he can wring from Connor’s throat, see how much he can make Connor squirm. Hank _wants_ , viciously, in a way he hasn’t in years.

And here, in the dark, where no one but him can hear his thoughts, Hank lets himself admit that it’s not just the sex he wants. It’s not that he just wants to get his dick wet, wants to see Connor squirm on his knot and beg to be bred. He wants to see Connor in the morning, too, sleep-mussed and drowsy, wants to bring Connor coffee in bed and wake him up with the smell of caffeinated beverages and kisses.

He doesn’t just want to fuck Connor, he _wants_ Connor, in every way he can have him.

And that? That’s even more fucking terrifying than just being attracted to Connor. Because that kind of wanting, it’s the kind that brings commitment, and Hank’s done commitment once already. Didn’t end well, in the kind of way that makes him wary of trying again.

Hank might be getting ahead of himself, though; Connor asked him to help him through a heat, he didn’t ask Hank on a date. Hank doesn’t have any evidence that Connor wants anything more than what they have already, their friendship and partnership, with the occasional favor. _Because that’s what he asked you for,_ he reminds himself. _A favor, that’s all he wanted._

But _God,_ it’s tempting.

* * *

Hank stays up until the early hours of morning wrestling with himself over the answer he’ll give Connor. When he walks into the station, he gives Connor - over by his desk, looking perky and alert as always, fucking _morning people_ \- a nod before making a beeline for the break room, making himself a generous cup of coffee.

It’s only partly a stalling tactic. He’d made up his mind, now all he has to do is take that leap and tell Connor his answer. It’s a fucking terrifying thought, though, taking that leap.

But he has to take it, and after a moment more in the breakroom, Hank moves determinedly towards his and Connor’s desks -

Only to be intercepted by Fowler sticking his head out of his office. “Anderson, Stern! In here, now!”

Hank shrugs at the raised eyebrow Connor gives him from across the bullpen, and changes course. Connor joins him, and the two of them take their seats in front of Fowler’s desk. “Something going on?” Hank asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Fowler snorts. “We’ve got a report of a homicide downtown, just happened this morning. I want you two to check it out - but be careful. That’s a rough neighborhood.”

“Which one?” Connor asks, sitting up straight in his chair and looking at Fowler attentively.

“Ferndale.”

Hank swears under his breath. “Shit, that place is crawling with red ice dealers,” he growls. “We’ll grab vests before we head out.”

Fowler nods, dismissing them, and Hank leads Connor out of the bullpen and to the requisition room. “Why do we need vests?” Connor asks, tone curious.

“I’ve done busts in Ferndale before, I’m not exactly popular there,” Hank snorts. “And there’s a _lot_ of drugs circulating around there, and weapons. The people who like both tend to be twitchy. Better safe than sorry, having something protecting your major organs.”

“Oh.” Connor’s quiet then, contemplative, and doesn’t say anything else as he and Hank find vests and double-check their service weapons. They head out, Hank driving them to the address given.

Checking out the scene is routine by now, he and Connor moving easily around each other, making their own observations and checking each other’s. What’s not routine is the suspect jumping out of a hole in the fucking ceiling, landing right on Hank’s goddamn shoulders, and then sprinting from the building, Connor on his heels and Hank on his. they chase the suspect through several alleyways, Hank eventually taking a shortcut in an attempt to cut him off -

Only to be greeted with the perp’s knife slamming into his shoulder before he throws Hank out of the alley and in front of a car.

Hank’s vision swims with the impact, and the last thing he’s aware of is the rapidly-dimming view of Connor tackling an alpha twice his size.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but wanted to give y’all an update!

The doctors keep Hank in the hospital for a couple of days. The knife wound gets infected - because of fucking course it does - and they’re worried about an alpha his age suffering from being _hit by a fucking car._

It’s a reasonable concern, but Hank’s still pissed off by it. He’s got shit to be doing, damn it - he has to give Connor his answer, even if he can’t hold himself to it with this bandage on his shoulder, and he just _knows_ he’s going to have a shit ton of paperwork to file when he gets back to the station.

Connor doesn’t come to see him, and Hank tries not to let that get to him - he’s not sure he’s entirely successful when Fowler tells him that Connor started his heat leave early. That means, by the time Hank gets back to the station, Connor’s in the middle of his heat, and -

And there’s an awful lot of talk going around about it. Most of it sounds like rumors, shit Hank tries not to hear, but he hears enough. It’s enough for him to start second-guessing himself, start second-guessing Connor’s offer, and basically think too much.

So when Connor finally comes back to the station a couple of days after Hank does, Hank returns the impulsive hug Connor gives him stiffly, claims his shoulder is still bothering him, and then tries to start putting up walls without shutting Connor completely out.

He’s not entirely sure he’s successful; Connor keeps giving him questioning, almost _hurt_ looks over their computers, and Hank tries to ignore them. It’s better this way, he tries to tell himself, ignoring the way his heart clenches in his chest when Connor finally turns his full attention to his desk, his scent disappearing abruptly in a way it hasn’t since the first week he was here. It’s better this way - It has to be. Whatever Connor was thinking, he’ll stop, now. Things will go back to the way they were in the beginning, and they’ll move on.

And here Hank had been trying to stop lying to himself.

* * *

This heat had been the worst Connor had ever endured, by _far_. He’s never been sick at the same time he’s been in heat, and he hopes he never has to go through that again, because it was absolute _hell._ If that dumbass hadn’t been wandering the halls of the hospital when he shouldn’t have been, if he hadn’t puked directly onto Connor as he walked around a corner when Connor was on his way to visit Hank -

 _If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there’d be no work for tinkers,_ Connor tells himself for the third time that morning, catching himself glaring at his computer screen. The phrase was one that Amanda was fond of, and Connor had never fully gotten it, but it felt appropriate. He couldn’t change the past, at any rate - and it looked like he wasn’t even going to have a chance to try to change the future, with the way that Hank was freezing him out.

Had his request really offended Hank that much? Connor had thought that, at least if Hank didn’t want to spend a heat with him, he’d let Connor know, and not let it affect their working relationship.

Apparently he’d been wrong. Three days after coming back, and Hank’s still distant, talking to Connor in a way he hadn’t even before they’d become partners. It’s equal parts distressing, annoying, and infuriating, but Connor likes the anger best; it’s easiest to use, to maintain, at least at work.

When Hank turns down his offer of drinks after work for the third time, Connor feels something twist inside of himself, almost literally - and that night, in the shower, he almost doesn’t notice the tears mixing with the water. He wouldn’t, if it weren’t the way his eyes go tight and itchy at the same time, the way his breath starts hitching.

“This is ridiculous,” he tells himself, aiming for firm and landing short somewhere in the vicinity of ‘forlorn.’ “He didn’t even - He wasn’t - “

He can’t even get a full sentence out, and when his knees wobble, Connor eases himself to sit on the edge of the tub, letting the shower beat down on his bowed head. This _is_ ridiculous, he thinks, hands fisting in the short strands of his hair. He and Hank are partners, they work together, but there’s no fucking reason for him to be so cut up over an alpha rejecting him…

Something clicks into place then, and Connor stares, unseeing, at the water swirling down the drain. He fucking - _shit._ When the fuck had he started feeling like that about Hank? When had he started _liking_ Hank, started _wanting_ him for more than sex?

When had he fucking started a preliminary bond, and how the _fuck_ hadn’t he noticed it before?

Shit, if this really is a preliminary bond, that’s - that’s not good.

That’s _really_ not good, because an omega being rejected in a preliminary bond can react… pretty unpredictably.

“Fuck,” Connor whispers, shakily reaching out for the knob and turning off the shower. “Fuck!”

* * *

Connor’s been avoiding him. Not that Hank had really expected anything different, but until now, it’s been the kind of avoidance that doesn’t get them more than a raised eyebrow.

But this… Avoiding his desk? Hanging out with goddamn _Reed_ \- even if Reed is dating Nines now, he’s still a dick - and talking to Hank like he’s speaking to the fucking Commissioner? Hank’s almost tempted to corner Connor, try to talk things out - But this is what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He wanted Connor to forget about his request, wanted Connor to forget about him as anything except for his work partner.

But when he manages to catch a bare hint of that same preheat musk around Connor the day he comes in, marches directly to Fowler’s office, and has a muted conversation with him before leaving… Hank starts thinking maybe he fucked up. Maybe he fucked up big time. Connor doesn’t even _glance_ at him, and it makes something go tight and uncomfortable in Hank’s chest, makes him throttle back a whine of hurt.

Connor doesn’t come into the station the next day, and Hank all but slinks to his desk. He works in silence for a couple of hours, trying - and failing - to ignore the looks and whispers aimed at him.

Eventually, Fowler sticks his head out of his office and barks at Hank to join him, and Hank does his best not to slouch or drag his feet. That’s really the last thing he needs to do at the moment, give the impression of some heartbroken teenager.

Fowler looks supremely unimpressed when Hank sits down, and doesn’t give Hank a chance to ask why he’s been called in there before he speaks. “I don’t usually condone fraternization, but you and Stern have been a fucking dream team since I assigned you two as partners,” he starts. “So. Imagine my surprise when Stern requests _more_ sick leave, right after going through his heat. He looked like _shit_ in here, Hank. And he had such a tight hold on his scent, I couldn’t even have told you he’s an omega if I didn’t already know.”

Hank’s stomach ties itself in knots, and he barely keeps himself from glaring at Fowler. “What are you getting at?”

“I asked him about the reason why he was requesting sick leave again, and he told me that he had some ‘omega issues’ - “ This is said complete with air quotes - “to sort out, and didn’t want to affect anyone at the station.” Fowler raises an eyebrow and stares at Hank, who does his best not to squirm. “You two have been _avoiding_ each other. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I - He - “ Hank sighs. “He asked me if I’d help him through his heat,” he mutters, staring at his knees. “Right before I ended up in the hospital.”

Fowler nods slowly. “And after that?”

“I - I started the avoiding,” he admits. “I don’t - Connor deserves better. He’s a good cop, got a bright future. Doesn’t need me dragging him down with him.”

Fowler still looks unimpressed with him. “And did you actually tell him any of this to his face?”

“Er. No?”

“I see. Hank, remind me how old you are.”

Now Hank glares at him. “Why the fuck does that matter?”

“Because you should be old enough to recognize a preliminary bond, you _knothead!_ ” Fowler bursts out. “Jesus, Hank - the kid’s done everything except let loose with his scent and climb into your fucking lap leading up to you in the hospital, and while you two were avoiding each other, even goddamn _Reed_ was complaining about you breaking his heart!”

All Hank can do is stare. “I - You - _What?_ ”

“He didn’t tell me specifically, but I’d bet my whole month’s pay that Stern’s taken this sick leave to try to break the preliminary bond he accidentally made with your dumb ass,” Fowler says bluntly. “Do you know what happens to omegas when their alpha rejects them before the bond solidifies?”

Vague memories of high school biology, and overheard hushed conversations filter through Hank’s mind, and he stares at Fowler with dawning, horrified realization. “Are you - “

“Omegas tend to go into heat when they’re rejected in such a delicate stage of the bonding process,” Fowler says, far more patiently than he, by all rights, should. “Connor just came out of a heat a _week_ ago, while he was also sick because some jackass ignoring doctor’s orders puked on him when he was on his way to see you in the hospital.”

Fuck, Connor had been _sick_ while he’d been in heat? But - Then the rest of what Fowler had said sank in. “Wait, if he goes through another heat alone - “

“He could end up injured or even more sick,” Fowler says grimly. “The only reason I’m telling you and not some medical professional is because I know you, Hank. You’re an oblivious asshole, but you mean well. So. You tell me. You gonna go fix this, or at least break the bond with him properly? Or do I have to take more official measures?”

Hank’s answer is the slam of Fowler’s office door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is nothing but smut

Connor is in hell. He’s muffled more tears and sobs shaped like Hank’s name into his pillow than he can even think of counting, and his body feels like it’s on fire. He can’t stand any clothes on his body, can’t bear the touch of anything that isn’t Hank’s, and the fact that he knows what’s wrong _isn’t goddamn helping._

Fucking - Jesus, he can’t figure out how this happened without him realizing it, is the thing he fumes about in the rare lucid moments immediately after unsatisfactory orgasm. If he’d known this was happening, he could have squashed it much earlier, before this happened. If he could’ve broken the bond earlier, it wouldn’t have thrown him into this heat, he would’ve been able to do it without it affecting his and Hank’s relationship.

He never would’ve asked Hank to help him through his heat, never would have gotten his hopes up about Hank saying yes.

Connor’s interrupted from his pouting - yes, he’s pouting, no he doesn’t care at the moment, hidden in the solitude of his tiny studio apartment - by a knock at the door. He frowns to himself as he pushes off of the couch, moving towards the door and ignoring the way the band of his briefs itches around his waist. Who the hell could be knocking on his door right now?

The absolute last person he’s expecting to see through the peephole in his door is _Hank._

Forgetting the fact that he’s practically naked, Connor yanks the door open to glare at Hank, taking petty satisfaction at the dumbstruck look that immediately takes over his expression when Connor’s scent hits him. “What the fuck do you want?” Connor snaps.

Hank’s gaze drifts down over Connor’s chest and stomach before snapping abruptly back to his face, a flush crawling up his cheeks. “I - Fowler told me you’d taken sick leave again. I came to check up on you.”

Connor squints at him, suspicious. “What else did Fowler tell you?”

Hank takes a deep breath - Connor tracks the rise and fall of his shoulders, fights against the urge to reach out and _touch_ when Hank’s so fucking close to him. “He told me that you seemed like you were in distress. He thought…“ Hank swallows. “He thought you might be trying to break a preliminary bond.”

Abruptly aware of the fact that Hank’s still standing in the hallway outside of his apartment, Connor makes a split second decision. He sighs, loudly, and jerks his head in a sharp gesture over his shoulder. “I’m not talking about this almost naked in my doorway. Get in here.”

Hank’s eyes go wide, but Connor ignores him, turning around and walking back into his apartment, consciously stopping his hips from swaying. His alpha - _Not_ his alpha - Hank is standing _right there_ , the urge is nearly overwhelming.

Fucking instincts.

Literally.

There’s a pause that seems to stretch on forever, but then Connor hears Hank step forward, his front door clicking shut, locking them in together. Connor has to swallow a lump in his throat at the thought of Hank’s scent mingling with his, instead leading the way over to the living room area. He takes a seat on the armchair, gestures for Hank to sit on the couch. He remembers too late the fact that _he’d_ been sitting there, slick leaking from his ass; Hank realizes right away, but he sits carefully on the edge of one cushion, looking at Connor warily.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says, and Connor frowns, arms crossing defensively over his chest. “I didn’t realize that there was a bond - “

“It’s only a prelim,” Connor snaps. “It’s fine; I’ll handle it. You didn’t need to come check up on me, Lieutenant.”

Hank winces, but doesn’t look away from Connor. “I did - I’m old enough, experienced enough, I should have recognized the signs. But breaking a bond alone is rough, and if you want it gone, I can help with that. Make it a bit easier.”

Something about Hank’s words sounds odd, and it takes Connor a moment to pinpoint it. “What do you mean, ‘ _if_ I want it gone’?” he asks, frowning. “I took this leave alone.”

“I - “ Hank looks like he didn’t expect Connor to question him. He swallows again, takes another deep breath, and when he looks at Connor, he’s wearing a determined expression. “If you want it gone, I’ll help. But if you don’t… I can help you through this heat, since I missed the last one.”

Connor stills, staring at Hank with wide eyes. “You - You rejected me, though. After you got back from the hospital. Why would you - “

“I wasn’t going to reject you,” Hank says, something soft around the corners of his eyes - something vulnerable. “I was going to say yes. Then I got stabbed and thrown into traffic, but… I was going to say yes.”

Connor frowns, shakes his head. “Then why - why did you pull away? You started avoiding me, acting like you didn’t want to be around - “ Connor has to swallow against the whine building in his throat at the memories.

“I know,” Hank says quietly; he looks guilty now. “That’s on me, thinking too much and not talking to you first. I started second-guessing myself, and I didn’t know you were sick, that that was why you didn’t see me in the hospital.” His uninjured shoulder rises, falls, and Hank gives him a small, self-deprecating smile. “I thought… Maybe you regretted asking me for help. I thought maybe you were avoiding me, talked myself into believing it even though I knew that wasn’t like you.”

Connor stares at Hank, mouth slightly open. “What - Hank, I don’t understand,” he says, a bit desperately. “Are you… You’re saying if I hadn’t gotten sick, if you hadn’t been in the hospital, you would’ve said yes? But then you, what, talked yourself out of it without talking to me?”

“Yes,” Hank says - he meets Connor’s gaze evenly, his own expression open. “And I’m saying, if you still want me… I’m here. Whatever you want, whatever you need.”

Connor can’t make himself move at first, his brain struggling to comprehend what’s going on, what Hank’s just said - and what he’s just offered. After a long moment, Connor takes a deep breath and stands.  He watches Hank as Hank watches him move closer, until Connor’s close enough to lift a leg, kneeling on the couch and settling himself onto Hank’s lap. This close, he can see so much more of Hank, and he _relishes_ in the way Hank’s gaze flicks to his mouth when he wets his lips. “Whatever I want?” Connor asks, voice quiet as he dares to lay a hand on Hank’s shoulder, his other reaching to gently touch the strands of hair that had escaped Hank’s messy ponytail.

Hank nods, his own hands planted firmly on the couch. “Whatever you want,” he confirms, gaze roaming over Connor’s face, searching.

Connor shifts, reaching down to take Hank’s wrists in his hands, guiding Hank’s hands to his hips. “Even if I want you to stay?” he murmurs. “Even if I want you to touch me?”

Hank’s mouth quirks. “I said whatever you want; how many times you gonna make me repeat myself?”

Connor hesitates, and decides to take the leap. “Maybe once more. What if I wanted you to kiss me?” he asks, barely breathes, as he leans in closer.

Hank’s eyes darken. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs, closing the distance.

Connor doesn’t bother trying to mask the whine that breaks free from his throat as he leans into the kiss, hands coming up to bury themselves in Hank’s hair, pressing himself as close as he can. He feels one of Hank’s arms wrap around his waist, feels the hand of the other slide up his chest to curl over his shoulder and bury itself in Connor’s hair, tugging just hard enough to pull a gasp from him, breaking the kiss. “ _Hank,_ ” Connor whines, pleads. “Fuck, Hank, please - “

“I’ve got you,” Hank murmurs, the arm around Connor’s waist shifting until Connor can register the band of his boxers lifting, Hank’s hand sliding in to cup his ass, kneading lightly before the pad of one finger slides between his cheeks, dragging firmly over his hole and making Connor lose his breath. His forehead drops to Hank’s shoulder, a keening noise escaping his throat. “I’ve got you,” Hank repeats, his lips brushing Connor’s neck, teeth just barely scraping over the sensitive skin of his scent gland. “Let go, Connor - let me in.”

Connor whines again, hips rolling into Hank’s touch. “I want to,” he says, breath hitching. “I want to so badly, Hank, _please_ \- “ He cuts himself off with a shout when Hank’s finger finally slides in, fingers clenching in Hank’s shirt as his hips push back greedily.

“That’s it,” Hank murmurs, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin behind Connor’s ear. “That’s it, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not,” Connor mumbles, pushing himself up to capture Hank’s mouth in a rough, biting kiss. “Or I swear, I’ll find my fucking gun and shoot you. You’re not going anywhere except to my bed.”

“In a moment,” Hank chuckles, running a hand down Connor’s flank as he starts fucking him with his finger - when he adds a second, Connor loses his breath again, almost loses his balance, and has to grip Hank’s shoulders, mindful of his bandage, to keep steady. “There we go,” Hank croons. “ _Fuck,_ Connor, you’re gorgeous like this.”

Connor couldn’t answer even if he wanted to, this desperate heat already bogging his mind down and reducing him to needy whines and breathy pleas as he rocks in Hank’s lap. He’s achingly hard, feels like his skin is too tight, and he can barely string together two coherent _thoughts,_ let alone verbal sentences. Even that last ability is lost when Hank starts fucking him with his fingers, working Connor open at the same time as he drives him towards orgasm.

He comes with a shout barely reminiscent of Hank’s name, soaking his briefs with his come; his hole is wet, the sound of Hank’s fingers fucking him through his orgasm obscene in his small apartment. When Connor’s struggling to breathe, Hank finally pulls his hand out of Connor’s briefs. Connor’s on him immediately, heat flaring beneath his skin and he claims Hank’s mouth in a bruising kiss. “Bedroom,” he manages to gasp. “ _Now,_ Hank, please.”

“Alright, alright,” Hank says, and when he shifts under Connor, Connor barely has a chance to brace himself before Hank’s lifting them both up, Connor’s legs wrapped around his waist. Hank mutters a curse at the pull of his bandage, and Connor offers him a soft kiss in apology - but Hank makes no move to set Connor down, instead making a beeline for the only hallway that leads further into the apartment.

“Second door,” Connor manages to say helpfully before getting distracted by the fact that Hank’s neck is _right there_ in front of him, he can almost see the pulse of his blood beneath his skin, and he can _definitely_ see the way the tendons strain. He doesn’t think about it, just fits his teeth around one and _tugs_ , relishing in the growl it earns him, barely registering the sound of his bedroom door banging off of the wall.

“You’re such a fucking _tease_ ,” Hank all but snarls, dropping Connor to the bed, staying upright only long enough to divest himself of his clothing and Connor of his briefs before dropping his weight onto Connor, covering Connor’s body with his.

Connor hums, pleased at the contact, drawing Hank into another searing kiss. “Took you long enough to notice,” he mumbles around their kisses, hands wandering over all that glorious skin, tracing the lines of Hank’s ink.

Hank makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, nipping at Connor’s bottom lip - it’s meant as a reprimand, but all it does is make Connor gasp, his hips rolling against Hank’s. “Trust me, I’ve been noticing _plenty_ ,” Hank says, hands drifting over Connor’s chest and ribs, squeezing around his hips to get another whine. “You really think I haven’t? The way you walk around the station, the way you always seem to drop things right in front of my desk… There’s a fucking reason I’ve been taking so many damn bathroom breaks.”

That confession hits Connor right in the chest, and he brings his hands up to haul Hank into a desperate kiss. “ _Hank,_ ” he whines, squirming underneath his alpha, “please, fuck - I - _Shit,_ Hank, don’t make me wait any more.”

Hank hums into the kiss, his touch soothing, gentling Connor underneath him - until he wraps one hand around Connor’s cock, stroking languidly. “I think you might have to wait just a little longer,” he says, smiling against Connor’s neck as Connor whines once more, desperate. “Need to get you ready - you might be in heat, but I’m not gonna just shove my cock up your ass.”

Connor’s skin goes hot and tight at the implication, and he couldn’t stop the way his legs lock around Hank’s thighs, hips rolling up into his touch, if he wanted to. “Then hurry up,” he growls, teeth worrying at the skin over Hank’s unbandaged shoulder. “Get me ready so you can fill me up with your knot, Alpha.”

Hank’s own growl sends shivers down Connor’s spine, and his grip tightens on Hank when his hand moves lower, fingers easily sliding home in Connor’s hole, filling him up in a tantalizing preview of what he really wants. “Keep talking like that, things are gonna be over way too soon,” Hank grunts, and Connor grins.

“I know you’re an older alpha, Hank, but you’re damn stubborn,” Connor says through his grin. “I think you’ll manage to keep up somehow.”

Hank’s mouth is on his before he’s barely finished speaking, and Connor hums into the kiss, hands roving over Hank’s back, enjoying the way Hank’s fingers move inside of him until the heat beneath his skin burns too hot to ignore. He moves his hands to Hank’s hips, one hand coming around to curl around Hank’s cock - and Connor _thrills_ at the size of it in his hand, at just how well Hank’s going to fill him up. “ _Connor,_ ” Hank starts, but Connor cuts him off with a light nip to his earlobe.

“I’m ready,” he says, barely breathes into Hank’s ear, reveling in the way his breath across the sensitive skin makes Hank shiver against him. “I’m ready, Hank - trust me.”

Hank fucks into him a couple more times with his fingers before pulling them out, Connor whining at the feeling of being empty - but he makes himself stay still, makes himself wait semi-patiently as Hank lines himself up.

Connor breathes through the initial stretch, and when Hank’s hips are snug his ass, he wraps his legs more securely around Hank’s waist, fingers digging into his shoulders. “ _F_ _uck,_ ” Hank breathes, forehead resting against Connor’s. “Shit, Connor - you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Connor reassures him, giving Hank a smile. “C’mon, you can move.”

“Bossy,” Hank grumbles, but his smile belies his annoyance - but more importantly, to Connor’s heat-addled mind, at least, is the fact that he does as Connor says, and starts to _move_. He builds a rhythm specifically designed to drive Connor wild, and Connor obliges, does his best to drive Hank wild in turn.

His apartment is fairly well-soundproofed - one of the requirements he had when apartment hunting - so Connor lets himself be as loud as he pleases, pleased even more when Hank’s pace picks up. “You like me loud?” Connor asks, a breathless question that needs no answer except for the jerk of Hank’s hips against him. Connor smirks, and obliges.

He can read Hank’s approaching orgasm in his faltering rhythm, in the way his breathing speeds up, and the increased girth catching at his rim every time Hank pulls back and fucks back in. “Jesus Christ, Connor,” Hank mutters, pressing in close for a kiss that neither of them can maintain. “ _Fuck,_ you’re so damn tight on my cock - “

“Pull out,” Connor demands abruptly, squirming when Hank just freezes, looking at Connor with wide eyes. “Pull out, I wanna - I wanna turn around, want you to fuck me from behind.”

Hank shakes his head, muttering something about Connor giving him a damn heart attack, but he pulls out nonetheless, helping Connor roll over onto his hands and knees before he fucks back into Connor in one swift motion. Connor keens at the sensation of being filled so abruptly, being fucked so _full_ , and now that he has better leverage he can really rock back into Hank’s thrusts, meet him for each one and drive them both closer to the edge faster than before.

Connor comes when Hank reaches around and starts jerking him off, and he feels Hank’s knot swell inside of him, hears Hank come with a shout, hips grinding in close, fucking Connor through their orgasms in shallow thrusts.

The two of them collapse to the bedspread, Hank spread out over Connor, but Connor’s not complaining; he likes the weight of Hank on top of him, likes the feel of being pressed into his mattress. He hums pleasantly when Hank noses at his hairline. “You good?” Hank asks, his hands running down Connor’s arms to link their fingers together.

“I am _amazing_ ,” Connor sighs, relaxing into the mattress and squeezing Hank’s hand. He hesitates for a moment before asking, “Are you going to stay after your knot goes down?”

Hank lets out a sigh of his own, pressing a kiss to the nape of Connor’s neck. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. “Not even after this heat is done. We need to talk about a lot of things, and a lot of _those_ are topics best covered when we’re out of your heat.”

“Good,” Connor murmurs, sleep dragging at his limbs. “Right now, though, I am _exhausted._ ”

Hank chuckles. “Then go to sleep, Connor. I’ll be here when you wake up.”


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue! I may return to this verse and write more later (including more Nines/Gavin-focused stuff), but for now, I have other projects!

“So, I couldn’t help but notice that Connor looks pretty damn happy today.”

Hank barely represses a groan at the sound of Gavin’s voice, instead scowling at his coffee for a moment before turning that same expression on Gavin. “So?”

“ _So,_ I’m trying to say congratulations, dickweed,” Gavin says, irritated. “Congrats on getting laid, congrats on finding the love of your life, whatever.”

One eyebrow hikes up. “Is Nines actually being a _good influence_ on you?”

Gavin rolls his eyes. “Fuck you, Anderson, I’m just trying to be fucking polite.”

Hank can’t help a snort at that, but he just grins at Gavin. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, now go sit down and get to work before you hurt yourself trying to be nice.”

Gavin’s eyeroll this time looks like it hurts, but he doesn’t say anything else, miracle of miracles, before making his way to his desk. Connor’s looking distinctly amused at his own desk, the expression turning fond when Hank hands over his own coffee. “Ambushed by Reed?”

“Yep,” Hank says, popping the ‘p.’ He logs into his terminal, sipping at his coffee and cursing at the burn on his tongue. “You get ambushed by Nines on your way in?”

“Yes,” Connor says with a laugh. “But he means well. And told me that he still didn’t regret asking you about your intentions the other week.”

Hank splutters, cheeks warming beneath his scruff, and turns his attention back to his terminal - only to be distracted by Connor’s foot hooking around his ankle under their desks, pulling the two of them closer together. He leaves his foot there, attention turned toward his own terminal - but when Hank glances at him, Connor gives him a soft smile.

And, well… Hank thinks his life could be going a lot worse. This thing between the two of them is still new, but it’s far from fragile, and for the first time in a long time, Hank finds himself looking forward to what tomorrow brings.


End file.
